Stardust
by MandaPanda2
Summary: Though I dream in vain, in my heart it will remain my stardust melody, the memory of love's refrain. (Alternate universe)
1. Purpose

Disclaimer: All characters (unless otherwise specified) belong to Aaron Spelling, E. Duke Vincent, Gary Tomlin, NBC, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.  
Rating: PG  
Genre: Angst/Drama  
Spoilers: Everything through Olivia on the cruise, then it quickly dances into AU territory.  
Summary: Though I dream in vain, in my heart it will remain my stardust melody, the memory of love's refrain.

* * *

Chapter 1: "Purpose"

_May 1998_

It's a common misconception that vodka should be served ice-cold. There is truth to keeping the bottle encased in slabs of ice. The ice allows the flavors of the vodka to fully blossom. Many people assume that's also how it should be consumed.

They're wrong.

My bottle sits on the desk, a fine film of frost on the glass. The Cyrillic script on the label is as foreign to me as is the notion of drinking ice-cold vodka. Neatly, I pour the thick clear liquid into a glass. No ice cubes. My hands surround the glass, letting the warmth of my palms take off the chill. Gregory always said vodka should be served a few degrees warmer than freezing. Cold, like revenge.

Of course, I learned this before I used the alcohol to warm me on lonely nights. Before I would drink myself into oblivion to forget how it hurt to live in the cold of Gregory's glare. It was nearly enough not remembering how glorious it was to live in the shine of his favor, when his eyes would light up at the sight of me.

When life didn't hurt.

When it was worth living.

It wasn't supposed to be this way again. _I'll love you. I'll honor you. I'll cherish you. _I frown into the glass, the clear alcohol gazing back at me. How desperately he promised me those things. How desperately I wanted to believe them. Did believe them. _I am begging you: hang on. Hang on to what we have. Hang on to what it took a lifetime for us to build._

Slowly, I lift the glass to my mouth. The vodka touches my lips as I sip it and I detect a faintly sweet smell. Gregory can have his Bordeaux; I'll take vodka any day. The liquor is warm down my throat and I lean against the chair, savoring the sensation as it moves into my chest. I'll have to remember to leave a tip for Mario. He certainly came through for me when I asked him to bring me a bottle of the ship's best vodka.

I wander throughout the stateroom, my eyes moving over the décor. I think the designers were aiming for the Renaissance. The crème walls and gold molding accent the rich fabrics of the curtains and bed. It's a little oppressive. But, the luxury of it all reminds me how near we are to Europe. I slide open the door to the balcony and step out, the cool breeze stirring my hair. There's a full moon above, allowing me to see the distant landmass of Italy.

After a moment though, I turn away and go back inside. Italy makes me think of Florence. Florence makes me think of my honeymoon. Three weeks of romantic days and love swept nights in the ancient city. Church bells ringing against the pink sky, pigeon wings flapping against the grey buildings of the Uffizi. My honeymoon makes me think of Gregory. The vodka makes me think of Gregory.

_Everything_ makes me think of Gregory.

I thought that leaving Sunset Beach would give me time to heal, time to remember. And, I've remembered _plenty_, just not what I hoped. I remember the way Gregory used to escort me into restaurants and parties, his hand in the small of my back. I remember the way he would grunt and roll over when one of the children would crawl into bed between us. I remember how easy it was to rest against him, half-asleep and holding Caitlin to my breast for a midnight feeding.

But, most of all, what I can't help but remember is the way he looked at me, his eyes blazing when he admitted he blamed me. I sink down to the settee, taking a deep sip. _Oh, Olivia. I wanted to believe you. I wanted to believe that you weren't responsible, that somebody else was responsible for our baby's death. _There always had to be someone to blame. He needed someone on the receiving end of his throbbing anger.

I remember the way his voice cracked with barely-controlled anger and a measure of frustration. _Me? Me! I'm not the one that killed our baby! _He wanted our child. He wanted answers. None of which I could give him. _Tell me. Please tell me! You were drinking, weren't you? You were drinking. You got drunk and you had an accident. _

I stand abruptly, the silk robe flying around my feet as I walk back to the bottle of vodka. The photos from Caitlin are lying next to it on the desk and after a moment, I trade them for the glass. The first photo attacks my broken heart, stomping on the shattered remnants. Caitlin had the beam that only new mothers wore, one of pride tinged with exhaustion. Sean was next to her, his arm around his older sister as he grinned up at the camera. But, it was the baby who drew my attention, who demanded my gaze. The chubby baby lay in my daughter's arms, just as fair as his mother had been as a newborn.

It was the baby that I can't stand to look at, I realize with disgust as I shove the photos back into the envelope. Tears sting my eyes as an ugly swirling vortex possesses me. My envy is just as great as my happiness is for my daughter. She gets to hold her baby. She gets to smell his sweet skin, kiss the bottoms of his feet. She gets to sleepily lean against her husband during the midnight feedings.

An angry sob racks my body and my fist comes down on the desk. I barely feel my knuckles crunch against the wood or notice the icy pain that shoots up my arm. It was nothing compared to the palpable longing for that which can never be: I want my child. I want the baby whose presence initially took me by surprise, but who I ultimately eagerly anticipated with every fiber of my being. I want to caress his chubby cheeks and blow kisses on his belly. I want to be woken in the middle of the night to the sound of his cry.

I want Gregory to not blame me. I want him to look at me with adoration instead of hate. I want him to love, honor and cherish me. I want his hand in the small of my back. I want his fingers combing through my hair as I breastfeed our son.

A breeze drifts through the stateroom, bringing with it the music from another part of the ship. A sigh consumes me as I drain the glass, licking the remnants of vodka from my lips. It's a familiar song and I close my eyes, swaying my body in time with the tempo.

_Sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely nights dreaming of a song…_

There's nothing more romantic than the songbook standards. As a child, I remember peering through the crack in the door of my father's small study, watching him dance with my mother. Their cheeks pressed together, his arms around her slender frame. The way she would look up at him, adoring as the soft music crackled out of the radio. Thomas and Barbara. They were made for each other.

My eyes open, falling on the orange prescription bottle. The doctor in New York was sympathetic when I complained of insomnia and was almost happy to write the prescription. But in the end, the sleeping pills sat unopened and forgotten in my cosmetics bag when I flew to Barcelona and joined the cruise. Until now. My hand curls around the small plastic bottle, my fingers covering the part of the label where it warns against consuming alcohol or operating heavy machinery after taking the pills.

The childproof lock snaps off and I tip the bottle, the pills spilling out onto the desk. A hum rises in my throat and the song plays on as I grind the pills with the bottom of the glass. "When our love was new and each kiss an inspiration," I sing softly, brushing the pill fragments to the edge of the desk and into the well of the empty glass. I barely wince as I take the neck of the defrosting bottle, pouring more vodka.

I turn away, gently swirling the glass so the vodka and the pills mix. Gregory and I danced to this song at our wedding. It was one of the many standards I requested the band play, never forgetting the way my parents looked at each other when they danced to them. Later, as a young bride dancing to them with my new husband, it felt like a circle had been completed. Everything had worked out as it was supposed to.

It just didn't last.

_The nightingale tells his fairy tale…_

I drink again, the wistful strains of the song tugging at my heart. Everything hurts too much. The baby is dead. Gregory blames me. The dream is over, shattered with the rising of the morning sun. But, the feelings linger, spurring me on. The way his eyes darkened when he growled that it was my fault. The way his eyes sparkled as I came down the aisle, his hand extended to me. The way his face turned when I asked him to let me go. The way he held me close each of the four times I told him I was pregnant.

"My stardust melody," I murmur, closing my burning eyes, "the memory of love's refrain." I sip deeply, succumbing to the music and my memories. Waiting for that blissful moment when I could sleep.

When I could stop hurting.

When I could join my baby.

* * *

A soft knock echoes through the office and I look up, irritated. "What?" I snap as the door opens. Annie peeks around the edge of the door and I sigh, turning back to my paperwork. "Do you need something?" I ask as she closes the door.

Her heels click across the floor and I look up slowly, unable to miss the way her hard ankles and taut calves glowed in the afternoon sunlight. "I just wanted to check on you," she says, clasping her hands demurely in front of her. "I've been worried about you, Gregory."

"Really?" I throw my pen aside and lean back in my chair, curious. "Why is that?"

She cocks her head, twirling a lock of her red hair around her finger. "Why shouldn't I be? We're business partners."

A scoff dies in my throat as I look away, rubbing my eyes. "I'm not especially worried about you," I point out. "Nor did your father ever share your concern for me."

Her face turns and she takes a step closer. "No. You and he just shared Olivia."

I sit up, squaring my shoulders as my wife's name echoes in the silence. Four syllables that have the power to break my heart a thousand times over. But, that wasn't enough for Olivia. She just had to squeeze in one more heartache. Vaguely, I hear Annie stuttering an apology, something about crossing a line, and I sigh, holding up my hand. "Enough."

She watches as I go to the bar, throwing a fistful of crushed ice into a glass before I reach for the Scotch. A moment later, she's at my side and I glance over as her hand rests on my shoulder. Her touch burns through fabric of my shirt as she asks, "Have you heard from Olivia?"

I stiffen, raising the glass to my lips. "No," I say shortly, the word a growl on my lips.

"It's been almost three months," she sighs as her hand slowly rubs my arm. "What is she waiting for?"

I don't admit to her that the silence surprised me. When I let Olivia go that day at the airport, I expected she wanted time to herself. I didn't expect that would mean she would cut off all communication. I was left with no choice but to track her through the credit card bills. A week in New York at The Pierre. A flight to Barcelona. A passage on a European cruise. Like a fiend, I demanded the credit card company provide me copies of the receipts so I could scrutinize everything, from the food she ate to the clothes she bought. I told myself that I needed to know so I could make sure she wasn't still drinking. But, alcohol never showed up on any of her purchases.

There was nothing directly from her. I had no ship-to-shore calls from Europe. She was gone. As gone as our son. I found myself devoting afternoons to the study of her signature, a flourishing scribble capped off by a sweeping O and R at the bottom of the credit card receipts. Or remembering the way her eyes would light up when she smiled, violet flecks swirling in her blue irises. Or wishing the damn phone would ring, her breathy voice filling the phone line and waltzing through me.

My hand tightens around the glass, the Scotch rich as I hear Annie say, "Maybe she realized you were right and that she's to blame for your son dying."

As I turn to her, I realize her hand is around my wrist and she slips closer. Her chest brushed against my own as she sighs deeply. I watch her lips part as she leans in, pressing her hands against my chest. "Gregory," she murmurs, watching me with wide eyes, "I know you're in pain." She cups my face when I turn away, her hands warm against my cheeks. "Let me heal you," she whispers, her lips dancing against my own.

She's the only one who recognizes that I'm suffering. Caitlin, Sean, Cole and Bette are only concerned about Olivia. Olivia, who was fragile. Olivia, who went to pieces. Olivia, who was the instrument of her own suffering and my pain. Olivia, the murderess.

The phone rings, a pealing tone that knifes through the silence. I jerk away, watching Annie's trembling lips for a long moment before I go back to the desk. My fingers wrap around the handset and I rip it up, barking a greeting. The voice on the other end of the phone surprises me.

"_Signor Richards?" _

I frown. The melodious Italian accent is an echo from the time Olivia and I spent in Florence. "Yes. Who is this?" I listen as the woman introduces herself as a representative from the _DM Turchino _and I immediately recognized the name of the ship Olivia is on. "Is this about my wife?" I ask, distantly aware of Annie hovering behind me.

"_Si, Signor. Your wife- your wife is in hospital. In Napoli." _

"Hospital?" My stomach turns and I press the phone closer to my ear, sternly asking, "What happened? Is she alright?"

"_Si, si. She's alive." _

"What happened?" I ask, desperate.

"_The doctor on the ship was able to…" _She struggles to find the words in English and I close my eyes, waiting in vain until she finally says, _"Pump her stomach."_

"Pump her stomach? What the hell are you talking about?"

There's a noticeable pause and I hear her muttering apologies beneath her breath in Italian. _"Signor, I'm sorry, but your wife…your wife, she try to kill herself."_

The bottom drops out from beneath me and I lean heavily against the desk. My hand bumps a framed photo and it falls forward, landing on the glass. I reach for it, turning it over. Olivia's smile looks back at me, her blue eyes brimming with life from behind the glass. A shallow breath echoes from between my lips as a dull wave of numbness washes over me. "She- _what_?"

I listen, her words coming over a dull drone from between my ears. _"Her butler find her." _

"But, sui- how do you-"

"_We find alcohol…and pills. Also, an envelope for…" _She pauses and my eyes close as she finally continues, papers shuffling in the background, _"For Caitlin and Sean." _

But not me. Her eyes were wide, the blue irises overwhelmed with sadness when I last saw her at the airport. _What's the point? I am leaving, Gregory. And, if you have ever loved me at all, I'm begging you, let me go. _But, not for this. I didn't let her go for this. The day she left, Caity was frightened. She suspected her mother would do this and I dismissed her concerns. She saw what I refused to: Olivia was drowning. And, I let her slip away.

"You listen to me," I say and my voice cracks as I struggle to make sense of it all, "I want you to open that letter and fax it to me. _Immediately_." I rattle off the fax number and turn, looking down at my watch. "I'm leaving shortly and I'll be in Italy tomorrow. Which hospital is my wife in?"

I scribble the information down on a piece of paper and hang up. My hand trembles as I fold the paper in half, tucking it away in my pocket.

"Gregory? Is everything alright?"

Annie's question is drowned out by the echo of the Italian woman's voice in my mind as I shrug into my suit coat. Alcohol and pills. Pumped her stomach. She's alive. Olivia is _alive_ and that is the only thought propelling me as I leave the office, brushing past my secretary.

* * *

_A/N: The song Olivia hears is "Stardust" (composed by Hoagy Carmichael, lyrics by Mitchell Parish). It's also the inspiration for the title of this story._


	2. Mario

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 2: "Mario"

The hospital room in Naples is stark, a sea of white. White walls, white sheets, white furniture, white cabinets. Above the bed, a crucifix carved from dark wood hangs and I stare at it, oddly fascinated. Years ago, I was amused when Olivia's mother presented us with a sterling silver crucifix for Caitlin's nursery. My Catholic wife took it from her mother, smiling graciously and I remember watching her later hang it over the crib. It was all new to me. As a child, there was never a presence of God in my life. I was raised to believe in no one but myself.

Now, the suffering savior gazes down at me and I shift uncomfortably. His face is twisted in agony, in sharp contrast to the peaceful slumber that my wife lies in. I turn away from Him, leaning back in the chair as my eyes move over her. Her chest rises slowly, her lips parted slightly. She's pale, I realize. Paler than usual.

"_What's that?"_

"_Oh, this?" she asked nonchalantly, touching her straw hat. "Just my hat."_

_I reached over, turning the wide brim up. "I knew you were under here somewhere," I teased. _

"_Darling," she sighed, her arms around my neck. "I can't be in the sun too long. My alabaster skin can't tolerate it." _

But, she grew to love the sun, easing into it gently on the deck of _The Splendour_. Back in the old days, when it was just the two of us and we could take the boat out for long weekend trips to Catalina and Baja. We haven't taken the boat out in years, I realize with a start.

She shifts and my heart skips a beat as she sighs. No, she's still asleep. I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. The doctors assured me there would be no long-term effects from pumping the pills and alcohol out of her stomach and that sleep was the best thing for her now. And yet, I can't help but wish her eyes would open. If only to ask: why? Whywhywhywhywhywhy_why_?

"_Scusi?"_

I look up, expecting another doctor. Instead, I find a young man hovering in the doorway, clutching a small bouquet of flowers. His eyes anxiously jump from my wife to me as I stand, sizing him up. He's all of twenty-five years old, _if_ that, with dark eyes and jet-black curls offset by olive skin. A current of familiarity goes through me and I struggle to place it as he steps in tentatively. "_Signora_ Richards…she is well?" he asks, his English cloaked in a thick Italian accent.

"Who are you?" I ask, claiming my spot to the left of her bed as he slowly moves to the right side.

"Mario. Mario di Biaggi." He lays the flowers next to her on the bed, the wildflowers grazing her hand. "I know _Signora_ Richards from the cruise ship. I am her _maggiodomo_."

I meet his gaze slowly as I say softly, "You were the one who found her." He nods and I watch him turn back to Olivia. His lips move silently and it takes me a moment to realize he's praying over her. Suddenly, I'm glad he's there. He's spent the last several months with my wife. He can tell me what I need to know. When he finally blesses himself, I say, "I'm her husband." He nods, his eyes large. "Do you know Olivia well?"

Another nod. "She is the only guest," he explains slowly, "who stay so long. Some people two weeks, sometimes a month. But her, she stay for-"

"Almost three months." I look down at her, her dark hair pooled around her head. It's the clearest evidence of the march of time. The last time I saw her, it was short and barely skimmed her shoulders. Now, her long hair comes to a curl at the ends, snaking over and around her collarbone. "Did she tell you why she stayed so long?"

I'm surprised by his answer.

"No. But, I know she was _molto triste_," he says softly, looking me in the eye. "A great sadness take her over." With a sigh, he shrugs and continues, "I do not think if that's what you want me to say."

It's not, but what choice do I have? My wife mixed herself a lethal cocktail of vodka and sleeping pills. Like scrounging through her credit card bills, I'm forced to rely on the impressions of strangers to figure out what's going through her mind. And, like with the bills, I'm no closer to solving the eternal mystery that is my wife. A part of me wonders if I ever will.

"She…" He pauses. I don't know if it's because English isn't his first language or because he's trying to figure out if he should continue with what he's about to say. I nod, trying to encourage him so he can satisfy my insatiable longing to understand. "In the beginning," he finally says, "she do not talk to me much. I only see her at night when she order her meals for the next day. She stay in her stateroom all day."

"How much alcohol was she ordering?"

His face turns and his eyes narrow as he shakes his head. "No, she ask for none." Abruptly, he looks down, his voice cloaked in pain as he continues, "The vodka was the first she ask from me. I'm sorry I give it to her."

My hand brushes Olivia's, our pinkie fingers touching as I watch him suspiciously. "Are you telling me my wife didn't drink _anything_ alcoholic until two days ago?" He looks up, nodding deeply. Why would he lie? Why should he be anything but painfully honest? "Are you sure?" I murmur. "She could've gone to one of the ship's bars or restaurants-"

"No," he corrects, "she is no like the others. She _never_ leave her stateroom."

"At all?" I look back at her face, finally understanding why she was so pale.

"_Si_." His face is animated now as he continues, "She just want to be _sola_."

_That_ crosses the language gap. She wanted to be alone. She ran away from our children, our home, and our life. She ran away from _me_. "Did she tell you we have children?" I ask, suddenly annoyed by her selfishness. We were drowning in grief, the family in shambles and she just _left_. Ran off to some foreign corner of the world, licking her wounds while I stayed behind to pick up the pieces.

His eyes flicker, suddenly wary. "When we start to talk, I ask her if she has family who miss her. She has been on the cruise ship so long, you see." I wait, my hand resting over her still one. "She say that she hope her children do and…"

"Go on," I say brusquely, fed up with the pretense of patience.

He swallows and it's clear this is a truth he's reluctantly confessing. "She say her husband is angry with her. She do not think he - that _you_ miss her."

_You're my wife. I cannot let you just walk away. _But, I did. I gave her what she wanted. I let her walk away, even though I asked her to stay. Hoped she would. I sigh deeply and turn back to him. "That night- before you found her… How was she?" His brow furrows and I try again. "What kind of mood was she in?"

He nods quickly. "Quiet. A letter come and I think it make her sad."

"Who was it from?"

"She say her daughter. But, she no open it. It is on the desk in her room when I come that evening." His face falls and there's a noticeable quiver in his voice when he continues. "I go to order her meals, but before I can, she ask for the vodka. But, I do not know she-"

"Keep going. Did you see if she opened the letter?"

"_Si_! When I come back with the vodka, the letter is open and there is photos on the desk. I give her the bottle and I leave."

Photos. Of course, the photos would set her off. Trey was a happy and healthy newborn, the furthest thing from our dead son. A reminder of all that we should have had, the second chance at happiness. How quickly it slipped through our fingers. Vaguely, I realize he's still talking and I listen.

"Later, I remember _Signora_ Richards no told me what she want to eat. So, I go back to ask." He pauses, turning to look at my wife's still form. "She no come to the door. Right away, I know something wrong. _Signora_ Richards _always_ come to the door. I use my key and I go in."

I lean in, sucked down the rabbit hole as he spoke. I have to know. I _need_ to know.

"Sh- she is laying on the bed." He gestures to the foot of the hospital bed, helping me to visualize the horrible sight from that night on the cruise. "On her _stomaco_. Her arm is hanging off and a glass fall on the floor. She-"

"Enough," I growl, turning away. "I see it. I understand."

With dozens of pills and a bottle of vodka, she nearly ended it all. I know I'm supposed to be grateful to this young Italian, but I can't help but be jealous. He got to be the one to find her. He got to be the one to save her. A husband is supposed to the one to save his wife, not a virtual stranger. I wasn't there. I wasn't there for my wife. _Wife? A wife is someone that you love and that you cherish and that you are there for when they need you. And you have never been there for me when I really needed you, __not the first time we lost the baby and not this time. _

I flinch and turn slowly, ice running through my veins. He backs away slowly from the bed, holding up his hands as he murmurs an apology. He's frightened and I exhale deeply. The exhaustion is catching up to me, the all-night flight to Naples and then the time change. The stress of listening to Caitlin's sobbing and Sean's stunned silence on the phone when I told them about their mother. And, deep down, in the spot where Olivia once accused me of burying my feelings so deep they would never see the light of day, is the guilt I feel as I watch her sleep. It's a thin line between life and death and she danced too close to it, crossing over for a terrifying moment. "Thank you for telling me," I murmur, turning back to Olivia.

"Please say to _Signora_ Richards that I hope she is well soon." He flashes me a nervous half-smile before he leaves the room. That's when it hits me like a thunderbolt. This kid reminds me of Cole. Cole, the bane of my existence for the last year. Cole, who disappeared the same day Olivia did. Cole, who was nowhere to be found when Caitlin was convinced her mother had gone off to kill herself. Cole, who mysteriously reappeared with Olivia, neither of them saying where they had been.

The realization sweeps over and through me like a blustery winter breeze, invading every ounce of me. She tried to kill herself that day too. Cole stopped her the first time. I didn't. Mario saved her the second time. I didn't. I was nowhere to be found either time. I was locked away with Annie, cursing my wife's name. I let Olivia walk away from me at the airport, too proud to beg her to stay the way I wanted her to. The way I needed her to. _You see, everybody I ever really loved in my life left. I remember waiting for you to go to sleep. I'd come lie down next to you and just watch, praying to God you wouldn't leave me, because I knew if you ever did, I'd die. _

Except I didn't die. No, I was left painfully and cruelly alive. Alive and able to feel the heartache of knowing that my wife preferred death instead life with me. That she could slip away and give it all up - our life, our marriage, our children - and succumb to the pain. In what could've been her last days, she knew I was angry with her. Angry enough that when she wrote one final note, it was addressed only to the children. Not to me.

Heavily, I sit down in the chair next to her bed, watching her with full eyes. I reach into my pocket and pull out the faxed copy of her note. It's written on the ship's stationery, their logo in the top center. Rereading it now is unnecessary; I've had twelve hours sitting up on a plane all night with it. Her words are _ingrained_ in my memory, seared like burns on my soul. The way she confessed her deep love for the children. The way she asked them to forgive her for being weak. The way she asked them to understand the pain that was consuming her. The way she explained she was tired of waking each day in a world where she was responsible for her youngest child dying.

From the bed, I hear the sheets rustle and I look up. She's stirring. _Finally_. I put the suicide note aside and lean in, watching as she sighs, moving her head. Her hand brushes against my own and I start, a lightening bolt going through me. "Olivia?" I murmur as her eyes flutter. She turns, her eyes squinting in the early afternoon sunlight. There's haze swimming in her blue irises as she looks back at me with a blank stare. "You're in Naples," I say, reaching out to take her hand.

Her hand flinches in mine and her face crumbles as she slowly begins to shake her head. "Nooooo," she moans, long and low in the silence. Her hands go to her face, muffled sobbing filling the silence.

I lean up with concern as she shudders and continues twisting on the bed. "Olivia-"

"Why?" she cries. Her arms fly down, landing at her sides as she gazes up at the ceiling. Tears fall from her eyes, staining her cheeks and I reach up to brush them away. Instead, her hand pushes mine away as she murmurs, "Why am I here?"

I stiffen and sit back in the chair. "The doctor says that all of your test results are fine. She's going to release you-"

"I don't care." Her voice is soft and the image of a wounded bird comes to mind, its wings fluttering helplessly. "I don't want to live." I inhale sharply as she finally turns to look at me, her eyes dull and vacant. "Why did they save me?" My stomach turns and I look away as she starts to cry again, but they're silent tears this time. I feel her eyes on me, burning into me as she continues, "You should have let them carry me away."

I shake my head, not able to understand that kind of futility. "Why, Olivia? Why would you do this?" I hiss.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" she sighs, her voice flat. She rubs her forehead and winces. I'm frozen to the chair as she finally continues, "You blamed me for the baby. You wanted me to pay. A life for a life."

"Olivia-"

"I don't want to live," she repeats, a sob rising in her throat. "Not without our baby. Not with you thinking I killed him."

I can't move. I'm physically incapable of anything other than breathing and watching her. She rolls over, the sheets surrounding her as she turns her back to me. Leaving me with the irrefutable knowledge that it was my fault she tried to kill herself. My fault our children were nearly left motherless. My fault she felt death was her only option.

I was just as responsible as if I handed her the glass of vodka and pills.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you all for the awesome feedback! I'm truly bowled over by the enthusiastic reception for this story. _


	3. Gotterdammerung

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 3: "Gotterdammerung"

"Good," I say into the phone, swallowing the last mouthful of coffee. "Have the jet ready. We'll be there within the hour." The call ends and I drop the handset into the receiver. The jet is fueled and the flight plan to Sunset Beach is filed. I look up and frown, realizing Olivia still hasn't moved. She's sitting in the armchair, gazing out the tall windows that overlook the harbor. She's barely spoken two words since yesterday when the doctor released her from the hospital and I brought her here. I sigh and cross the room, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Olivia?"

She doesn't even flinch and her pale flesh glows in the golden sunlight falling in through the glass. Slowly, I crouch before her, but she doesn't see me and I know the appeal of the Mediterranean view is lost on her. I don't know what worries me more: that she tried to kill herself or that she's withdrawn to the point of catatonia. When we arrived at the hotel, she immediately crawled into the bed and pulled the down duvet up to her chin. She didn't eat dinner yesterday evening and she's barely touched her breakfast now.

My hand grazes her knee and I stand with a deep sigh. Leaving didn't heal her. Perhaps being home with the children will.

There's a knock at the door and I turn, glancing at the luggage stacked in the corner. The Italian doctor cleared Olivia to fly, so the sooner we leave, the better. This unexpected excursion in Italy couldn't have turned out more differently than our honeymoon all those years ago. I open the door, expecting a bellboy with a luggage cart. "Annie?"

The young redhead takes off her sunglasses, her eyes dancing as she looks in. "I came as soon as I heard about what happened to poor Olivia." I catch her arm as she attempts to pass me, keeping her at bay. "Gregory-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" I frown as she brushes her hair back and I can't quite figure out the nervous chuckle she gives in response. "Annie?"

"I was worried about you!" she exclaims, her eyes wide. "You just ran out of your office and I didn't know where you went!"

I drag her out into the hall, holding my hand out to catch the door from closing completely and locking me out. "Are you out of your mind?" I hiss, throwing her arm away. "This is a private matter between my wife and I. It has nothing to do with you."

"Oh, really?" Her face hardens as she folds her arms across her chest. "After you left, I went to the house to see if you were alright. Caitlin and Sean were there and they were a _wreck_." I wince, content to only imagine their devastation. I called them yesterday evening, but with Olivia asleep, they weren't satisfied with my claims to their mother's well-being. Reuniting the three of them was my only priority. "Caitlin told me Olivia tried to kill herself. Is she alright? Has she remembered something about the day the baby died?"

"Annie, this doesn't concern you," I repeat, irritated.

"But, Gregory, it does! I- I feel so close to you and your children, especially Caitlin. We've become such good friends and our friendship is something I treasure, especially since I don't have any real family of my own."

"And, I'm sure Caitlin appreciates it too. However," I say, my gaze hardening when she opens her mouth to interrupt, "you and my wife have _never_ gotten along, so I find your concern for her hard to believe."

"But-"

I shake my head, my glare intensifying as I turn back to my suite. "Enjoy your stay in Naples, Annie," I say, pushing open the door. "Hopefully, you'll get something out of this trip." I close the door, ignoring her frantic call for my name. The young woman's determination to ingratiate herself into my family is nothing short of bewildering. I scoff, staring at the solid door for a long moment before I turn. Olivia's standing in the middle of the room, her brow furrowed. Her blue eyes crinkle in a glare, their intensity crackling in the space between us.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Whereas in previous days her voice was broken and dejected, now it's strong and ringing with ire.

"Annie? I have no idea," I reply, watching as she rolls her eyes.

"Has she been here this whole time? Did she come here with you?"

"No. Why would I bring her?"

She turns back to me, her eyes blazing. "Well, it would certainly make it easier for you to continue carrying on with her once you've hidden me away somewhere."

I shake my head. "You're not making any sense."

"Aren't I?" she hisses and I finally see a lick of color rise in her complexion. She lowers her arms, her hands balled into tight fists. "You're having an affair with her, aren't you?"

I exhale deeply, watching as her eyebrow arches, daring me to refute her accusation. She's never let this idea go, not since the car accident all those months ago. "Olivia, we've been over this," I begin, not willing to go down this road. Again. She cries out, disbelieving, as I continue, "I am not having an affair with Annie."

"Don't lie to me!"

I move closer and reach for her shoulders. "Sweetheart, you're not thinking straight."

She shrieks and flings my hands off, spinning away from me. "I have never thought clearer in my life! Three months of solitude has given me absolute clarity! _Why_ is that woman here?!"

I'm still, watching her gesture wildly as she paces around the sun-filled room. "Olivia, I'm not having this argument with you. I can't."

"And, why not?!" She whirls around, her eyes wild as her hands fly to her hips. "Why? You've never had a problem arguing with me before!"

"I'm not indulging this paranoia," I say sharply and she scoffs. "It won't help you get better."

"Better? You don't care about making me better! You blame me for the baby dying!"

I look away, her cry echoing in the suite. She's breathing heavily and my stomach turns, listening to the contained hysteria in her voice. But, she's right. I do blame her. She's not given me any reason _not_ to blame her. The mysterious trip to San Francisco, her inability to remember, the cremation order, the liquor receipts. Three months later and the pain of losing that child is just as raw as the moment when Dr. Brock broke the news. The gut-wrenching pain was only compounded by the revelation that the stillbirth was caused by Olivia's drinking.

"You see," she sighs, her voice dropping to a wounded whisper, "you can't even deny it."

"The only way," I begin, speaking over the lump in my throat, "that we can move on is for us to go home and get you the help you need."

Her jaw drops. "The help _I_ need?" Slowly, I turn back to her as she continues, "You need just as much help as I do, if not _more_." I stiffen as the blood flushes in her face. Her finger jabs my chest, ice dripping from her words as she says, "You've let your grief and pain fester, like you _always_ do. Then, it turns to anger and you lash out."

I take a deep breath and remind myself that she was only released from the hospital yesterday. "What would you like me to do?" I ask, my voice low. "Fall apart and go to pieces like you?"

She smacks me in the middle of my chest, her face twisted in agony. "At least I feel _something_!" she retorts, ignoring my glare as she smacks me again. "You have been running from your feelings for so long that I'm not even sure you know _how_ to feel! You are so desperate to blame someone so you can do something with your anger, to rail against someone because it's easier than admitting you are hurt! That you are in pain!"

"And, what good does that do?!" My bellow makes her recoil and I move closer, suddenly seething. "Does it change anything?!"

"At least you wouldn't blame the one person you _should_ be grieving with!"

"Your _convenient_ inability to remember what happened makes me blame you! The medical file makes me blame you!" She falters and her head goes back like I've struck her. And, even though my hands are at my sides, maybe I have. Bette once accused me of hurting her more with my words, bullying her into submission, than any episode of physical violence ever could. But, I plow on, irritated with her self-indulgence and denial of the truth. "The _liquor_ receipts make me blame you!"

Her eyes blossom with pain and a vein pulses in her neck as she screams, "I never would've drank! We were happy! I came back to you, to our bed!" My eyes narrow, listening as she scrambles a plausible denial together. But, she's had years of practice to weave a web of tales around her binges, cloaking them in shadows and deception. "Why would I drink?"

Grimly, I suggest, "You're an alcoholic, Olivia. Why _wouldn't_ you drink?"

Like a house of cards, she implodes. The fire goes out of her and she pales rapidly, holding her trembling hands to her face. Slowly, she looks away and I sigh, searching for the words to reason with her. But, before I can even move, she whispers, "I can't do this."

I watch as she reaches up, pushing her long hair behind her ears. Her throat is working and for the first time, I notice the tears sparkling in her eyes. If there was one thing in this world I couldn't stand, it was the sight of my wife's tears. They cut through me quicker and more efficiently than any dagger. "Can't do what?" I ask, my anger deflating.

"This," she gasps, half-heartedly gesturing between us. "I can't go through _this_ again. My pain and your anger nearly destroyed us the first time and it's destroying us now. Destroying _me_." With a shaky sigh, she turns back to the window and is framed perfectly in the center. "I want nothing more than to remember what happened, but I can't. And…I _hate_ myself for that."

"Olivia-"

She turns suddenly, her hair flying out around her head. "I forgave you for Caity nearly dying, for the car accident, for that _sick_ plan of yours." Her shoulders collapse and she asks softly, "Why can't you forgive _me_?" Her simple question nearly knocks me off my feet. I cringe, turning away from my wife as she painfully bleeds out. "You don't know _how_ to forgive," she concludes when the silence becomes too much to bear.

There's a quick succession of knocks and I glance over before I turn back to Olivia. But, she's already turned back to the window and I go for the door. It's the bell boy this time and I gesture to the luggage in the corner. "Is our car here?"

"_Si_," he says, neatly stacking the suitcases and bags onto the luggage cart.

I take Olivia's purse and turn back to her. Her spine is ramrod straight, but the tremor in her hands is unmistakable. "Olivia?" I say softly and she flinches. "Let's go home."

She turns and I notice the way her white blouse swallows her slim frame. All of the pregnancy weight is gone and I remember just how small she is. But, time has moved on and so must we. With a frown, she snatches her purse from my hand and stalks past me, leaving the suite. I sigh as the bell boy stacks the last bag on the cart and follows my wife out. Leaving me alone in the suite, standing at the foot of a seemingly insurmountable mountain and not seeing a way to start my ascent.

* * *

I stand next to Gregory in the elevator, clutching my purse to my chest. My arms cry out and I realize, not for the first time, that they were mourning the loss of the baby too. There's nothing worse than a mother's empty arms, crying out in desperation for the heft of her child. I close my eyes and lower my head, suddenly tired. Our arguments always take so much out of me. How can he not see that?

A shudder goes through me and I gasp, hating the feelings coursing through me. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to be here. A moment later, I feel his eyes on me and I turn my face away, not wanting him to see my disappointment. Life used to be something I cherished; now, it is a prison and my death penalty has been commuted to a life sentence. There's no escape from it, though I desperately tried to control my destiny and plan my exit.

His eyes are inching over me and years ago, it was a feeling I cherished. Knowing he was watching me from across a crowded room, undressing me with his eyes. Feeling my skin tingle, from my toes to my scalp, was only one step away from ecstasy. Waking up in his arms, his gaze gently nudging me awake. I used to relish it. Now, I just want him to stop looking at me with nothing but anger and blame.

I hear him clear his throat and I open my eyes. The sealed doors are made of polished metal, an almost mirror. I can look nowhere but at him, even if it's only him through a reflection. Our eyes meet and I remember how he used to say he knew what I was thinking just by looking at my eyes. I realize I don't know if he can say that anymore. How can he look at my eyes and know, when I can't do the same?

My eyes flicker and I look at my own reflection for the first time in days. It was easy to avoid in the hospital and when I stepped out of the shower this morning, the mirror was fogged over. There's a woman in the elevator door's reflection, but I don't recognize her. Her hair is a mess, long and limp over her shoulders. Her face is pale and free of cosmetics, every fine wrinkle out on full display. There's puffs beneath her dull eyes and I watch her swallow hard, her collarbone rising sharply from her skin. She might as well be a stranger because she's not me. She can't be.

I look back at him and I see his mouth moving. When did he start talking? I blink, still watching his reflection as I focus and hear him say, "-rest on the plane. Once we're in the air, we'll be home in fifteen hours."

Home. Back to everything. Our lives. Our children. Our home. No, a house, _not_ a home. He moved me out of our home. Our mess awaited us in Sunset Beach. Nothing would be different once we returned to the land of sun and sea. He would still blame me when we got back. That little tart would still be chasing him when we got back. The children would still look at me with nervous and apprehensive gazes when we got back. Our grandson would be there waiting when we got back.

My arms tighten around the purse as the elevator slows and grinds to a stop. The terrifying reflection disappears as the doors open. Beyond the elevator, I see an opulent crystal chandelier scattering golden light over the polished marble floor. There's the sound of a piano drifting through the air and I freeze, hearing the soft notes of "Stardust". I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, feeling his hand on my shoulder a moment later. "Olivia?"

Nothing ever changes. I tried to kill myself, but I was still here. Agony courses through me with every beat of my heart. Gregory will never forgive me because I will never forgive myself. I can't remember what happened. All I know is that my child is dead and the man I love says it is my fault. If it were you, would you want to return to that? Can you blame me for preferring death to that kind of hellish existence?

"Why don't you wait in the car while I check out?" I hear him suggest as his hand slips around my arm. He leads me out of the elevator and my heart begins to pound. I grimace, biting the corner of my lip as my eyes dart from side to side. "Excuse me?" he says, getting the attention of the concierge as he drapes my blazer over my shoulders. "Would you please show my wife to our car?"

I watch him turn to the desk, reviewing the bill that the clerk already has ready for him to review. Things work out smoothly for Gregory. They always have. Except for me. I've always managed to turn his perfectly managed world upside down. I lost two of his children. I challenged him where our living children were concerned, preferring their happiness to his need for omnipotent control. I slept with other men. I drank myself into oblivion more times than I could even count.

I push through the revolving door and onto the busy sidewalk, nodding blandly to the concierge. An explosion of Italian surrounds me as he begins directing several cars full of arriving tourists. A marina is across the street and I listen for a moment to the horns from the boats and watch their sails billowing in the morning sun. The Mediterranean is a deep shade of blue, leaving me to marvel at the seamless blend of sea and sky on the horizon. I could have been out there for all eternity were it not for Mario's resourcefulness. I look back at the curb and see a bell boy packing my luggage into the back of a chauffeured car.

As I move to the car, a chill sweeps over me and the hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. I don't know why, but I turn and give in to the odd sensation. Through the revolving doors, I see Gregory talking to Annie in the lobby. She's standing close to him and her hand dances against his as he leans closer, saying something to her. It kills me to admit that I'm jealous of the little whore and have been since the moment I found out she was with Gregory when Caitlin and I were in the accident. Ever since then, she's danced around him, toying with suggestive innuendo and obscenely short skirts.

My stomach turns, hating the sight of them as she reaches up and touches his arm. But, it can't compare to what I've already lost. My husband, my family, my baby. All I'm left with is my miserable excuse of a life. Of course, that's the one thing I don't want, but can't seem to get rid of. Cruel irony.

I turn back to the curb and go to the chauffeured car. The bell boy looks up and smiles, about to close the trunk, when I shake my head. "_Un taxi, per favore_," I say, reaching in for my bags. "Hurry!"

"_Si, Signora._" He turns, waving urgently as I set my bags on the street and close the trunk. Gregory can keep his luggage. My own are coming with me.

I told him in the hospital there was no point to it. I meant it. Going home won't fix us. Our little episode in the hotel room just now proves it. He'll never forgive me and I would rather try and kill myself again then live with his unending ire every day. That would be a hell on earth.

A small taxi jerks to a stop and I stand back, watching as the bell boy loads my luggage into it. A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I find myself turning around, staring straight into Gregory's dark eyes. "What are you doing?" he asks.

I sigh, my heart pounding as I admit, "Leaving."

"Olivia, there's no need for a taxi. I told you I arranged for a car to take us to the airport."

Gently, I push his hand from my shoulder and step back. Realization flickers in his eyes as I shake my head. "I'm not going back to Sunset Beach."

"What are you saying?" he says flatly and I wince. Of course, he would make me spell it out for him.

Behind me, the taxi driver honks the horn impatiently and I glance over my shoulder, holding up my hand. As I turn back to him, I see Annie coming out of the revolving door, watching us intently. My eyes turn back to Gregory, who's fixated on me. "You and she deserve each other."

His face turns and he grabs my arm, dragging me back onto the sidewalk. "Olivia, for the last time, there is _nothing_ going on between me and Annie. Now, stop this. Let's go _home_."

I rip my arm away, my heart racing. "I am leaving you, Gregory! I told you, I can not do this again." His jaw is tight, a fine line of bone as his throat works. "I would rather die than return to Sunset Beach and since that didn't work out for me-"

"Running away didn't solve your problems _either_!" he shoots back and I can't help but hear the panic in his voice.

I shake my head and shrug helplessly. "I wouldn't have had to run if you had been there for me!" I retort, vaguely aware of the small crowd of nosy tourists and passersby forming around us. What a thoroughly American spectacle this is for them to witness. He stiffens and I lower my eyes, brushing my hair back. "But, you can't be there for me when you blame me in the first place."

"Olivia-"

"If I come back to Sunset Beach, I will die." He looks away and I continue, "It will kill me to be there, living every day and thinking about 'what could've been'. And, I don't think you want me back, not as your wife. You just want me there so you can have someone to blame. But, that's not what I want. It's not what I married you for."

"_Signora! Il taxi!" _

"If you won't - or _can't_ - forgive me," I ask softly, ignoring the bellboy and hoping for one last chance, "then what's the point?"

"I-" he says, his voice low and my eyes narrow, fed up.

"I can't wait around for the day to come when you _finally_ find it in your heart to forgive me! You didn't wait for me! You _demanded_ that I forgive you for what you did to Caitlin! You wouldn't take no for answer!" I jut my chin, laying all my cards on the table. "So, tell me! You tell me right now! Tell me you can forgive me!"

I meet his eyes as he looks up and I sigh, tired. Tired of all of this. He says nothing, his expression ashen as his lips set in a grim line. Nothing will ever change, I realize as he looks silently at me. The tiny part of me that hoped he would give me his forgiveness dies and I inhale deeply. The taxi driver honks the horn again and I tear my eyes away from Gregory. I step off the curb and slide into the back seat of the car, blinking back tears.

I feel his eyes burning into me, watching from the curb as the taxi pulls away. It slips seamlessly into the morning traffic, the hotel falling away behind me. I lower my face, crying into my purse as I clutch it against my chest.


	4. Living

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 4: "Living"

"Good morning, Gregory."

I turn, hearing the voice of my attorney. "Harry." He drops a hefty briefcase onto one of the chairs and takes the other one for himself. With an internal sigh, I sit down and reach for my humidor. The mahogany box has taken up new residence in the corner of my desk, replacing the photo of my wife that once stood in the spot. "Well?" I ask, snipping the tip off the cigar and striking a match.

"I received this an hour ago."

He unfolds a document and I flinch, not needing to read it to know what it was. "Petition for dissolution of marriage," I say, sucking on the cigar until it sparks.

Harry nods. "Charles Lakin is representing Olivia," I hear him explain, though I'm not surprised. She's had him on retainer since the early 90's. "In absentia," he adds and I look up, exhaling sharply.

"What?"

"He's indicated that Olivia is unwilling to return to California. In fact, she's unwilling to return to the _country_."

I sit up abruptly, a silver fog of spicy smoke surrounding me. "She's staying in London? For good?"

He shrugs and leans back, the lines of his crisp suit breaking. "At least through the proceedings. It's not completely unusual. After all, she does maintain dual citizenship."

It might be the norm for other people perhaps. But, for Olivia not to return to the children is…unusual. The cigar dangles from my fingers and I tap it harshly. Ash falls into the shallow crystal dish and a thought whispers from the back of my mind. She never did like it when I smoked in the house. She claimed the stench lingered for days. The maroon leather gives as I lean back, dragging deeply on the Behike. "Will her refusal to come back delay anything?"

After a moment's thought, he shakes his head. "No. Charles's firm has an office in London, so I don't anticipate it being a problem. At some point, the judge may request she appear by closed-circuit video link, but the divorce will proceed without her."

Divorce. The word leaves a bitter tasted in my mouth, spoiling the $400 cigar. But, what my wife started, I will be sure to finish. "Let's talk about the assets."

Harry reaches into his briefcase for another document. "This arrived a few minutes after the petition. It was signed by," he reads grandly as he looks down at the bottom of the page, "'The Right Honorable Colin Andrew Baron Lavenham'." He looks up, his gray eyes sparkling. "Apparently, her London lawyer also has a seat in the House of Lords."

"What does she _want_?" I ask testily, shaking my head when he holds out the document.

"Well, Gregory, as I'm sure you know, when you married Olivia in 1974, you did not enter into a prenuptial agreement with her."

"_Darling, do you want me to sign one?" _

My heart skips a beat, remembering the way she watched me closely all those years ago. Our own wedding was less than a month away and on that day, we were attending Del and Madeline's wedding reception. Bette, who always had a knack for ferreting out every morsel of gossip, whispered that the only reason the ceremony finally took place was because Del agreed to sign a prenuptial agreement. Madeline's very wealthy father insisted on it. Next to me, Olivia stiffened and glanced over quickly. Her confession about being poor still lingered between us, somehow revived during the stress of the wedding preparations.

"_Olivia-"_

_Her hand slipped into mine, her fingers like ice as she led me to a quiet corner of the banquet hall. "I don't mind," she whispered, her eyes burning into mine. "This way, you'd know."_

"_Know what?" I asked, thoroughly confused as tears sprang to her eyes. _

"_That I'm not marrying you for your money," she whispered, her voice trailing off into a strangled sob. _

"_Liv," I murmured, drawing her closer, "I already know that." She frowned and shook her head, trembling against me as I continued, "Besides, we would never need it." She looked up slowly as I cupped her face. "When I marry you next month, it's going to be for forever."_

_She smiled and nodded, sniffling. As she leaned into my touch, her eyes turned up to me and she whispered, "I just want you."_

_I returned her smile. "You've got me." _

"Gregory?"

I look up, meeting Harry's quizzical gaze. "Continue."

"I was saying that the Divorce Gods have smiled upon you. Olivia has specific requests, but you won't be losing half of your assets."

I say nothing. He doesn't understand it was never about the money. To hell with it all. It was about Olivia. It's only _ever_ been about her. I left Italy numb, still not believing that she left me standing on the sidewalk in Naples. By the time I landed in Sunset Beach, I had convinced myself that she simply flew back on her own. Expecting to find her at home, I instead returned to a quiet and empty house. Eleven hours later, my investigator discovered that she checked into the Dorchester the same day she left me. And, like the time she spent on the cruise, the silence between us resumed.

"What does she want?" I ask blandly, somewhat intrigued by the notion of hearing from her for the first time in ten days. Even if it was through a team of lawyers.

"I think you'll be pleased." I nod, slipping into atrophy as he looks down at the document. "She doesn't want alimony or a financial payment of any kind. She wants WHOC and its license split apart from the Richards Communications Group. She also wants the Deschanel jewels delivered to Sotheby's in London. But, that's it."

_I'm not marrying you for your money. _Her quiet declaration echoes in my mind, as clear as the evening when I first heard her say nearly a quarter of a century ago. I look away, my gaze naturally landing on the spot where her photo once stood. How often I turned to it over the years, retreating to the comforting lure of her sapphire irises.

"It's clear she's going to auction off the jewel collection," he continues, mistaking my silence. "Between the proceeds and the radio station, she'll be an independently wealthy woman and your money will stay with you."

I feel myself nodding as a part of my soul dies. She's thought of everything. While I holed up in our house, waiting for her to come to her senses and come home, she's taken charge of ending it all. Our marriage, our family, our life. And, like everyone else I ever loved, she's left me. I sit up, clearing my throat and say, "So, that's it then?"

"Yes. Unless you object to her requests."

I wave my hand dismissively, not admitting to Harry that I would've given Olivia half of everything if only she merely asked for it. Without her, it was all for nothing anyway. Caitlin moved out and was living her own life, Sean was only a few steps behind her from leaving. Their mother was all I had left. And, now she was gone too, leaving me alone.

"There's no minor children to consider," I hear Harry say and I wince. But there weren't. Not anymore and not ever again. I stand as his briefcase snaps shut and he continues, "You've agreed to her two requests. Therefore, I'm confident this can all be settled in a matter of weeks."

I leave the cigar smoldering in the crystal ash tray and lead him out of my study. What it took us a lifetime to build can be destroyed in weeks. I'm still pondering that profoundly disturbing thought as I enter the foyer and open the front door. Harry leaves quickly, promising something about keeping me updated and I nod blandly, closing the door behind him.

Turning for the living room, I rub my face but don't feel my hand. I'm numb, succumbing to paralyzing realization that Olivia is gone. Forever. I stand in the doorway, the sound of hushed voices surrounding me. Caitlin and Sean look up, dropping into silence. "Good morning," I mutter, reaching for the decanter of Scotch and a glass.

"Morning, Daddy," Caitlin says softly.

My son is quiet and I feel his eyes burning into my back as I raise the crystal tumbler to my lips. "Don't you think it's a little early for that?" I hear him ask and I can't help but smirk. He's been asking that question to Olivia for years.

I turn around, raising my glass. "It's a toast to your mother. She's eight hours ahead of us, so I'm drinking on London time."

"Daddy-"

"To the end," I say before I take a deep sip. "Your mother has filed for divorce." Over the rim, I watch them exchange a long glance. I lower the glass as Sean turns to me, determination flickering in his eyes. "You knew," I say, realizing that Olivia would never trust me to break this news to them.

Caitlin nods. "Mom called us early this morning. Then, we came here. Are you ok?"

"Fine," I snap, not wanting their pity or concern.

"Mom said she's not coming back," Sean says and my eyes dance over to him. "She's staying in London."

"Yes," I say vaguely. "So I heard."

My daughter looks up at me, her blue eyes sparkling. "Daddy, I'm so worried. She tried to kil-" she stops abruptly, not able to continue and I'm forced to remember the way Olivia's eyes fluttered open in the Italian hospital. "And, now she's all alone again."

I drain my glass and set it down hard. "Perhaps that's how she wants it," I murmur, turning away from their heartbroken eyes. "Perhaps that's what she _deserves_."

"Maybe it's for the best," I hear my son say and I glance over my shoulder. He's leaning over, his hand on his sister's shoulder as she sobs into her hands. I sigh, listening to my daughter's cry and realizing how much she sounds like her mother. "Mom wasn't happy here," Sean continues and I turn back to the bar, pouring more Scotch. "Maybe she can find peace in London."

* * *

The grass crunches beneath my feet, the dark green blades merry against the fading English sun. I follow the groundskeeper through the cemetery, weaving through and around the stone markers. With a sigh, I look around. The trees are in bloom, filtering the sun into golden-white patches. The sky, which had been pale blue for most of the day, was morphing into a sad shade of gray, a harbinger of the impending night.

"Just this way," the old man says and I nod to his back, recognizing the area. It's been years since I've come, but the cemetery managed to stay the same. The paper wrapped around the bouquet of flowers crinkles and I hold it against my chest. Petals shift and a moment later, the sweet scent of the hyacinths surrounds me. Mummy always did love them so.

It's been years since the last time I was here. On that visit, my father had been dead for a year and it seemed like the right thing to do, making a pilgrimage to his grave. Gregory managed to clear his calendar and came with the children and I. It was winter then, the white sky utterly depressing and befitting all our moods. Caitlin, perhaps sensing the gravity of the moment, curled into my embrace, as we looked down. Sean stood between Gregory and I, hugging my waist as he peered down at the grave.

Gregory stood on my left, our gloved hands clasped. The year before, our shared grief over my father's death temporarily united us. In the absence of his father, my own meant a great deal to Gregory. He squeezed my hand as an icy gust howled across the empty cemetery.

"Here we are," the groundskeeper says and I turn away from my memories, the sound of a chirping bird echoing in the distance. I meet the old man's weathered face and nod, whispering my thanks. He leaves quietly and I look down, my eyes moving over the letters carved into the stone.

_BLAKE _

_Thomas Michael  
__1921-1992_

_Barbara Philippa  
__1922-1990__  
_

_Beloved parents & grandparents_

My heart races as I crouch down, not caring that my pants will be ruined. Gently, I unwrap the hyacinths and place the pot before the grave of my parents. My throat tightens as I turn my eyes up to their names, my finger tracing the letters. "It's been so long," I whisper, my knees sinking into the cool earth. "It shouldn't have been that way."

There's no reply other than the continued chirp from a bird. I wasn't there when either of my parents died and I've always been grateful for that. It's easier to remember them the way they were, the way my father enthusiastically cheered for Chelsea or the way my mother hummed while she cooked in her kitchen. Not that I haven't wondered what it would've been like if they lived. What would they have said about the way my life has turned out? Would it have disappointed them? Would _I_ have disappointed them? Would things even have ended up this way if I had them here to guide me?

"I've made such a mess of everything," I whisper, a sob rising in my throat. I grip the corner of the headstone, wishing in vain for it to be my mother's hand. Tears sting my eyes as I shiver, remembering the way my father would embrace me. "I left Gregory. I abandoned my children. I kil-" I sob, suddenly unable to continue. But, if I can't admit it to my parents, who can I admit it to? "My baby died…and it's my fault," I sigh, brushing the tears from my face. "I killed him and then, I tried to kill myself."

My litany of sins and faults wavers before me and I lower my head. I continue to sob, unleashing the pent-up agony from the last ten days. "And, I can't help but wish you were here to help me," I cry, my voice strained. "I left Gregory and ran back to London, as if you were both waiting here for me."

But, they weren't. No one greeted me at Heathrow and I numbly left the airport, ignoring all of the happy and reunited families. Somehow, I got to the hotel, though I don't know what made me choose the Dorchester. I wandered around the quiet suite, unimpressed with the opulent surroundings and longing for the quaint simplicity of my parent's home. It wasn't London I wanted, it was my parents.

I sigh, biting my lip as I look up. The name on the gravestone to the left catches my eye and a small smile dances on my lips. On our last visit here, Sean crouched before that same stone and read it aloud.

"_Marmaduke Seamus O'Malley," he read carefully before he turned to Gregory and I with a grin. He giggled, his brown eyes dancing as he skipped back to my side. "What a silly name: Marmaduke." _

Slowly, I turn back to my parent's grave and gasp. The realization floods over me, an ice bath that I fall into. On that visit, Gregory chose the Dorchester for us to stay at. Even when I thought I was running away from him, he's still there. Would he always be there, a shadow over my thoughts and the rest of my life?

Perhaps I am destined to live with ghosts, the living and the unliving.

* * *

The puzzle box slides open, revealing the hidden chamber. With a deep sigh, I reach in and pull out the documents. The baby's death certificate is on top and, after a moment's hesitation, I push it aside. I've read it so often these last three months that I could recite it from memory. Besides, there is nothing new written on it. Olivia and I had a son. Gregory Arthur Richards, Junior. And, she killed him.

Her letters are all that's left in my hands. A lifetime of letters, contained in envelopes that are bound together with a ribbon. Years ago, I pulled on the lavender ribbon and watched her long hair spill free. Later, as the letters began to pile up, the ribbon found a new use.

I rifle through the stack, moving back in time. My wife was nothing if not meticulous and each envelope has a date written in the corner. Our marriage fluctuated, with frequent lows and occasional peaks, and I try to remember the way we were with each letter. 1992 had a brief high. We clung to each other after Thomas died in early December and the shared grief bound us in a way we hadn't been in years.

As I thumb through the envelopes, I realize our marriage had more rough patches than good ones. But, our good moments, when she and I were on, were _very_ good. The annual vacations in July with the children was always a peaceful time for all four of us. We could leave our problems in Sunset Beach and pretend we had all the time in the world, for each other and our sometimes fractured family.

There's a knock at the door of the study and I look up as it opens. "What now, Annie?" I snap, straightening the envelopes in a pile. "You're more underfoot than that mutt."

She shrugs, tossing back her red hair defiantly. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

I lean back in the chair and glower at her. The virginal white dress she's wearing seems like a silent punch line. "You've been in and out of this house for months. Did you move in and Sean or Rose not tell me?" Her eyebrow arches as I continue, "There's got to be a reason, so why don't you just make it easier on both of us and tell me what it is?"

Slowly, the space between us diminishes as she nears me and a moment later, she's standing at my side. The chair rotates as she turns it to her and there's a brief moment of silence before she lowers herself into my lap. I inhale sharply as she looks up, a smirk dancing on her lips. "I just want you," she murmurs, echoing a decades old statement first uttered by my wife.

Her fingers dance against the buttons of my shirt and they pop out, one at a time. I reach up, my hands on her hips as she locks her legs on either side of me. Her sharp hips feel different than Olivia's, whose slim body curved softly after four pregnancies. "What are you doing?"

She chuckles beneath her breath as she pushes my shirt apart. "I thought it was obvious."

"Annie…" I begin as her fingertips graze my bare chest.

"Stop fighting me, Gregory," she murmurs, leaning in. Her lips brush against my own and I turn away. "You and I know this was inevitable. We've known it for months." She cups my face and kisses me. She tastes like cinnamon and she gasps against me as her tongue slips in my mouth.

I push her off and stand quickly, wiping the taste of her from my lips. "Get out," I say, a dangerous growl clinging to my words. Her eyes are wide as she watches me, her lipstick smudged.

"Gregory-"

"I don't know what you want, but I _do_ know I want you out of this house," I interrupt. "Out of this house and out of my life!"

"Life?" she repeats, chuckling as I stiffen. "You call this a life?" She sighs angrily and I see her neck flush. "This house is a mausoleum to Olivia and you're the gatekeeper! You know, I don't know _what_ I was thinking!" She starts to leave and then turns back to me, breathing hard. Her eyes are shining as she retorts, "You are so stuck in your memories of that _drunk slut _that you can't even see what's right in front of you!"

"GET OUT!" I snap, grabbing her by the arm and intending to drag her out.

"Oh, what? Now you defend her? When are you going to realize that she's gone?!" She spins away from me, her hands on her hips. "She killed your son and she ran away! And what? You still want her?" She gestures to the desk, ripping away any semblance of privacy as she shouts, "Sitting here, going through old letters and memories of that murderer? It's pathetic! _You_ are pathetic, Gregory!"

I grab her arm and push her against the door, seething. She struggles against me, breathing hard as I watch her. She's right. Olivia's divorcing me. She killed my son and now she's divorcing me. Annie whines my name and tries to move away, but I've got her pinned. Rushing, I lean in, kissing her hard. After a moment's surprise, she responds hungrily, reaching up to push my shirt from my shoulders.

And, I let her, my hands exploring her body as she moans, my heart pumping for the first time in months.


	5. Naturally

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 5: "Naturally"

The knock at the door startles me and I near it cautiously. My hand dances against the knob as I pull it open slowly. "Oh," I say, opening the door wider, "I wasn't expecting you, Lord Lavenham."

My London lawyer smiles cordially as he steps closer and holds out his hand. "Mrs. Richards, I believe I've asked you, several times, to dispense with the formality and call me 'Colin'."

His hand is warm and I smile, stepping aside. "Won't you come in, _Colin_?" He nods and passes by, entering the suite. I lead him into the small sitting room, gesturing to the Queen Anne chairs by the crackling fireplace. It's an unseasonably chilly summer, with gray skies and rain occupying my days and nights. "Would you like anything?"

"No, no," he insists, standing next to the armchair. I watch him for a long moment, noticing the sheaf of papers in his hand for the first time. "I've come-"

"The divorce papers," I sigh, shivering despite the warmth in the room. I look up slowly and meet his eyes. They're compassionate as he slowly holds them out to me. "So soon."

"I assumed you would want to see them right away." The papers slip through his fingers as I take them.

"Yes," I murmur, marveling at the heft. Who would have thought the documents would weigh so much? The answer comes a moment later: Gregory would. "Has Gregory received them?"

"By now, yes."

I inhale sharply as I nod, the image of my husband coming to my mind. I picture him, sitting alone in his study with the papers on his lap. Maybe a glass of scotch in his hand. As much as he might want to say otherwise, I wasn't the only one who retreated into the comforting embrace of alcohol during our marriage. But, I can't say things like that anymore: our marriage, my husband. As soon as I sign these papers, we are finished. Forever.

"Mrs. Richards?"

I look up, a sad smile dancing on my lips. "If I'm to call you Colin, don't you think it's only fair for you to call me 'Olivia'?"

Two small dimples appear in his cheeks as he grins. "I suppose so." I gesture to the armchairs and sit, my jelly legs giving beneath me. The papers flutter as my hand trembles and Colin leans forward, reaching out to steady them. "It's going to be alright," he says.

With a sharp inhale, I confess in a hushed whisper, "I don't think I'm as confident as you."

I turn back to the papers, wondering if Gregory's feeling as hesitant as me when Colin asks, "Will you sign them?"

I look up slowly, feeling as if I've been exposed. "Wh- why would you ask that?"

His face falls, the firelight dancing on his thick brown hair. "I ask because you look like a woman whose heart is breaking."

I sit back, my heart racing. I've always worn too much of my heart on my sleeve. Gregory always said he knew what I was thinking just by looking at me. That came after years of sharing my life, my bed, my heart. He knows everything about me and I know everything about him. We would've been perfect. Life just got in the way. And, Colin knows almost every sorted detail about my life with Gregory and what led to this moment. "It's been breaking for years, Colin." I look down at the papers, my voice tight as I say, "Though it may now have finally broke for good. May I have your pen?"

As he reaches into his coat's pocket, he asks, "Are you sure you don't want to review them? I don't mind taking you through."

I shake my head and hold out my hand. I just want it over with, before I lose all my nerve and admit it rips my heart out to sign. "I trust that you and Charles have gotten it correct." My fingers wrap around his gold pen and the nib scratches against the paper as I sign my name. Gregory's lawyer has signed by proxy for him, so it's done. Our marriage is over and a part of me wishes that I felt something. But I'm numb, except for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I look up slowly and hold the papers and pen out.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asks quietly, searching my face.

"I'm not going to try to kill myself again, if that's what you're asking," I murmur. His face turns and in an instant, I realize that's _exactly_ what he was asking. I shrink back, curling into the impersonal embrace of the chair. "But, thank you for your concern."

He nods, tucking the pen away and folding the papers up. He clears his throat and looks up, asking, "Would you like to go to dinner?"

I meet his gaze, my eyebrow arched. "Dinner?"

He blushes, his cheeks flushed to a robust shade of pink. "It's getting late, so I thought you might be hungry. And, I- I think you need a friend, Olivia, and you don't have any in London."

He's right. London may have been my first home, but Sunset Beach was my everything for the last twenty-five years. The friends I used to have here are scattered with the wind. My parents are dead and my only other relative, my cousin Andrew, is on holiday in the Virgin Islands with his wife. "Yes, I'm alone." After several moments of silence, I sigh, "Again."

"But, not naturally, I hope?"

The forgotten song from my youth waltzes through my mind as I reply, "I hope not. Can I let you know?"

He nods solemnly. "So, I take it that you won't be joining me this evening?" I shake my head and something that looks like regret, or pity, flashes in his eyes. I can't be sure which. "You will let me know if you ever change your mind and would like some company?" he asks as he stands, smoothing his waist coat before he buttons his suit coat.

"Yes," I say softly as he takes my hand, squeezing it gently.

"Do take care of yourself, Olivia."

I nod, letting my hand linger in his for an extra moment, savoring the contact with another person. Even if it was with my divorce attorney.

* * *

I'm on my way down the stairs when I hear it. The baby's gurgle echoes in the quiet house and I stop, gripping the railing. Cautiously, I lean over, catching my daughter's shadow as she walks the fussy newborn around the living room. With a frown, I continue walking and smooth the lapels of my suit coat. As I pass through the foyer, my eyes turn up to the second floor, hoping Annie would have the good sense to stay asleep and out of Caitlin's sight. "Good morning, Princess," I say, forcing a half-smile to my lips for her benefit.

Caitlin looks up, dark smudges beneath her eyes. "Morning, Daddy," she sighs, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

"What's wrong?" I ask as she stifles back a yawn.

"Oh, nothing. I mean, not really. It's just-"

"Just what? Is everything alright? Do you need money?"

She shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. I'm just…_exhausted_. Trey is up every two hours. And, half the time, I don't know if it's because he's hungry, wet, fussy, or all of the above." She clutches the baby to her chest as she asks, "How did you and Mom do it with me?"

I stiffen at the mention of Olivia and watch as my daughter sits on the sofa, cradling the baby. A flash of irritation goes through me as she looks up, her eyes wide as she waits for my reply. Olivia should be here to help her, the way Barbara came to help after we had Caitlin. "Well," I begin, keeping my voice even, "you were an easy baby. You would sleep for six hours at a stretch, sometimes longer."

"Six hours," she marvels, smoothing the pale blue receiving blanket. "I would give anything for six whole hours." She giggles, caressing the baby's plump cheek with her finger. "Remember when I was in high school? I would sleep until noon on the weekends and you always said I was wasting my day."

I chuckle and stand over her, watching them. "Things change," I say simply as the baby's dark blue eyes turn up to me. In an instant, they're Olivia's and I flinch. "He looks like you when you were a baby."

She looks up nervously and I'm about to ask if something else is bothering her when she says, "Do you think so? Cole was saying he thought he saw some of himself in the baby, but I don't see it. I mean, Trey doesn't even have his dimples."

"Thank God Trey takes after _our_ side of the family."

Caitlin nods weakly and reaches out, laying the baby in the wicker Moses basket. She stands and looks at me, suddenly grinning sweetly. I know that face. She wants something. "You do need money, don't you? Caity, you can just ask-"

"Daddy! I don't need money. Cole and I live a simple life, but we don't want for anything." I nod, not believing that, but also not willing to have that argument again with her. "But, I did want to tell you something."

I steel myself, unsure of what to expect. With Deschanel's influence, I no longer know what's going to come out of my daughter's mouth next. "Go on."

"Well, Cole and I were talking last night about Trey. He's almost four months old." I nod, wondering where this is going. "And, we decided that we want Trey to be baptized at Saint Philip's next month."

I nod and let several beats pass. "And?"

Her eyes fall and suddenly, we've reached the perilous crossing. "We want our families to be there. Elaine, Paula, Sean, you-"

And, in a flash, I understand. "Caitlin-"

"_And_ Mom."

I sigh, shaking my head. "Your mother ran away."

"Daddy, don't be unfair."

"Unfair?" I hiss, mindful of the half-asleep baby laying just a few feet away. "Caitlin, your mother abandoned this family."

She folds her arms across her chest and raises her chin, channeling the very composure of her mother. "She hasn't abandoned us. Sean and I speak to her twice a week. She wants us to come visit her in London."

The news washes over me like an ocean wave, salt water stinging the wounds of my fractured heart. Caitlin's right. It was never the children Olivia left behind, it was only me. With a deep sigh, I suggest, "So, you want me to play nice in the sandbox _if_ your mother shows up next month."

Her chin juts defiantly, her eyes sparkling. "She'll come," she insists. "I know she will. She's Trey's grandmother."

I nod, tired of this conversation. "Fine, Princess." I reach out, cupping her shoulders as I press a kiss to her forehead. A moment later, she wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight. I hug her back as she sighs, leaning away to look in my eyes. "What?"

"Are you alright?" she murmurs, watching me carefully. "You look…tired."

I think of Annie, the rumpled bed sheets, and the sleepless nights. Shrugging, I simply say, "Things have been busy."

"But, you are taking care of yourself, aren't you?" Suddenly, she's a little girl again, needing reassurance and I nod. With a sigh of relief, she grins and says, "Maybe I'll bring Trey over on Sunday afternoon and we can have lunch? I'm sure Sean will be free too."

Since Olivia left, she's gone overboard to make sure that I'm alone as little as possible. My daughter's been a constant presence at the house, even wrangling her brother in for support. But, they don't realize I'm not Olivia. I'm not going to crack at another hurdle life's thrown at me. "Make sure to let Rose know," I say as I reach for the carafe of coffee and a mug on the bar. "She'll put something together."

The doorbell rings as Caitlin glances down at her watch. "I will. But, we need to run. Trey has a check-up in less than an hour." She kisses my cheek and scoops up the basket. "Say goodbye to Poppop, Trey."

I look down, momentarily envious of my daughter's healthy infant. Slowly, I reach out and let the baby latch onto my finger. His blue eyes gaze back at me for a long moment before his face dissolves into something I swear is a smile. "Goodbye, Trey," I murmur before I look up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Rose is leading Harry in and I see the bundle of papers in his hand. "Have a good day," I say to my daughter, watching as she leaves. Rose follows her out and I stare for a long moment at my lawyer. "The divorce papers?"

He nods and holds them out, but I shake my head. I don't want them. Not yet. "I just received them," he explains as I push my mug of coffee aside.

"It's all in order?"

"Yes." He pauses for a brief moment and then continues, "You know, Gregory, I thought it would be more complex than this."

"Did you?"

"The division of assets makes some people insane. I have to say that you and Olivia have had one of the simplest divorces I've ever seen, given the amount of money that was at stake."

I reach out for the papers, clenching them in my hand as I turn away, saying, "I'll courier them over once they're signed." As I leave the living room, I hear Harry call out, "I don't mind waiting."

But, _I_ mind. I mind _very_ much. I look over my shoulder and shake my head, leaving him to find his own way out. I walk down the quiet hall and open the door to my study. I toss the papers onto my desk as I walk to the bar, pouring a generous splash of scotch into the crystal glass. I finish it in one swallow and pour more before I turn back to the desk. I unfold the papers, the words blurring together. There's no need to read them. Harry's taken care of everything.

I flip to the last page, seeing Olivia's proxy signature. For a moment, I'm struck by the simplicity of it, the Times New Roman font typed on the bottom of the page next to Charles Lakin's very real signature. It doesn't do it justice, I realize as I remember the three months I spent fiendishly studying her signature on credit card receipts.

Reaching for my pen, I look down at the empty line reserved for my signature. The scotch is smooth down my throat as I finish the glass and I quickly sign my name. I feel nothing but the warmth in my chest from the alcohol as I shove the pen and papers away.

It's finished. And, I'm alone. Again.

* * *

I push the heavy curtains aside and look out my window. There's a view of Hyde Park that most would kill for, but so far, it's done little to impress me. Beyond the park, lights twinkle in the dark night, like diamonds against black velvet. It's quiet and I stand still, embracing it like a shroud. With a sigh, I murmur, "Alone. _Again_."

The sad song has been with me since Colin left hours ago. I sat in the armchair, watching the fire die down until the faintly smoldering embers finally lost their spark. I don't know how much time went by, but when I looked up, night had fallen and I was surrounded in the total darkness I so deserve.

With a sigh, I turn away from the window and leave the curtains pushed back. Silver moonlight filters in, letting me see the outlines of things in the room. I might regret it in the morning when the sun comes up, but for now, I prefer it. I strip, replacing my clothes with a nightgown. The night maid has turned down the bed and I stand for a moment, stupidly gazing at it. His and her sets of pillows are plumped against the tall headboard. With a frown, I walk around to what would be Gregory's side of the bed.

I gaze at them for a long moment, tears stinging my eyes. The reality of my actions hits me and I cover my mouth to muffle the heartbroken sobbing. It would never be Gregory's side of the bed again. The simple realization is like a knife to my gut, but I remember Naples. I remember him and Annie, their hushed conversations in the hall and lobby. I remember the way he looked at me, furious in the hotel room as we argued. I remember the way he quietly denied me his forgiveness.

Trembling, I brush the tears from my face and scoop up the pillows he would have used. I stand there, hugging them for a long moment and my still aching arms have something, finally, to cradle. But like our child and our marriage, nothing lasts forever. Gently, like sand through an hourglass, the pillows fall from my arms and land at my feet. I don't need them. I step over them and crawl into the bed, slipping beneath the covers. After a moment, I turn onto my right side, my hand outstretched to the empty side of the bed.

The sheets are cold. Luxurious, but cold. The Dorchester thinks of everything, providing every amenity and consenting to every request their guests make. But, how do they solve the problem of a cold bed for their lonely and brokenhearted guest in the Windsor Suite?

With a sigh, a tear curls around my nose as I whisper, "Alone again. Naturally."

* * *

_A/N: The song referenced throughout this chapter is Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again (Naturally)"._


	6. Onward

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 6: "Onward"

The silk sheets rustle and the mattress shifts, waking me. I open my eyes and roll over, seeing Annie sitting on the edge of the bed. "What time is it?" I murmur, rubbing my eyes.

She glances over her shoulder as she clips her bra together and straightens the straps. "Probably the earliest I've been up on a Saturday in _years_," she mutters. As I sit up, she kneels on the bed and crawls across the mattress. A moment later, she's in my lap, kissing me awake. "Why," she asks, breaking away for a gasp of air, "do we need always need to be up so early?"

"Some of us work," I remind her.

She frowns as she leans over me, her long red hair pushed back over one shoulder. "All work and no play makes Gregory a dull boy," she murmured, splaying her hands on my chest. "It's the weekend. Let's sleep in."

I shake my head and push her off my lap. I throw back the sheets and stand, shrugging into my robe. "Not today. Caitlin and Sean are coming over for breakfast."

"And that means I need to leave," she mutters petulantly, following me to the bathroom. She leans against the door jamb, her arms folded against her chest as I brush my teeth. "It's been weeks. You're not a monk, Gregory…and your children need to know it. They need to know we're getting married."

I toss the toothbrush aside and brush past her. "I'll tell my children when I'm ready." I look over my shoulder, glaring sternly. She sulks and turns away, pulling on yesterday's skirt. I leave the bedroom, rubbing my face. Annie's been…an interesting distraction these last few weeks.

My children would be appalled if they knew about her.

Olivia would say she knew it all along.

I stop short on the stairs and frown, exhaling sharply. My ex-wife has yet to stop popping up in my thoughts, invading them like the enemy ship. I sometimes wonder if she ever would.

Soft laughter and distant music drifts through the silence and I balk, recognizing the song. It was playing the night I proposed to Olivia. _She paled, her lips quivering as she looked up. "Yes," she whispered, her sapphire eyes sparkling in the moonlight. _I walk quickly down the stairs, the music getting louder as I near the living room.

_Yes, I'm in love  
__And what I do  
__To make you mine_

I turn the corner, my heart pounding as I expect to find Olivia standing there. Instead, I see my daughter by the ancient record player. The cabinet doors are open, the old records spread out on the floor. She's swaying with the baby in her arms, humming aimlessly, as the jewel thief crouches down to examine the collection. My chest tightens, disgust coursing through me. "What are you doing?" I ask sharply.

Cole stands quietly as Caitlin looks up, smiling. "Sorry, Daddy. Did we wake you?"

"What is all this?" I ask, annoyed that I let myself believe. Olivia is gone. She's not coming back to this house. She's not coming back to this family. She's not coming back to _me_.

"Just music," Caitlin responds quietly, glancing quickly at her husband. She looks down at the record player and explains, "Trey was starting to get fussy, so we put on one of Mom's old records. The music calms him.

_Say you're in love  
__In love with this guy  
__If not, I'll just die_

I look down, ignoring my daughter's concerned gaze and Cole's curious one. A pastiche of album covers looks back at me, the soundtrack of my life with Olivia. They're one of the many memories she left behind and yet another one that I'll need to have Rose pack away. "It's fine," I murmur, tightening the belt of my robe. "I just wasn't expecting you so early."

"We thought we'd surprise you." She passes Cole the baby, who cradles the infant to his chest. I watch my daughter crouch down, stacking the records neatly. "I'm sorry if we woke you," she continues softly, glancing up at me.

"It's fine," I say as she shoves the stack back into the cabinet. She stands, examining my face critically. "Really."

Behind us, I hear the front door open and Caitlin looks past me. "Sean, where have you been?" she asks as I turn. Sean's spent more time out of the house than he has in it these last few months. It's no coincidence that his slow burning absences came on the heels of his mother's departure. I watch him open his mouth to respond when he glances at the stairs and his jaw drops open. "Sean? What's the matter with you?"

I follow Caitlin into the foyer, Cole on my heels, in time to hear her gasp. Annie stands on the stairs, wearing her wrinkled clothes from yesterday. She balks and nervously brushes her hair back. Only the baby shows a sign of life and he begins to fuss. Caitlin and Sean turn to me and I square my shoulders. "Coffee, anyone?" I ask blandly, turning away from all of them as I head back into the living room.

_My hands are shakin'  
__Don't let my heart keep breakin'  
__Cause I need your love__  
_

"Daddy, what is Annie doing here?" Caitlin asks, following me.

The needle scratches the vinyl as I shove it off the record. I hear Sean say, "I think I can guess. I don't need to be tortured with an answer."

The baby continues to whimper in the silence as the jewel thief sets him in the car seat and rocks it gently. Mercifully, he says nothing as Annie saunters in and leans against the arm chair. "Daddy," my daughter says, touching my arm, "what's going on?"

"Nothing, Caitlin," I say simply, watching my daughter recoil, "except that I'm living my life."

My daughter's frown and Annie's Cheshire grin are an odd counterpoint. "But-," she sputters as she watches the red head near me, "but what about Mom?"

* * *

"_Are you ready?"_

I look up sharply, meeting Colin's questioning eyes. Gazing at him for a moment, I tilt my head, wondering what he's waiting for when he clears his throat. "Are you ready to order?" the waiter asks again and I look up, shaking my head. The young man smiles politely, turns to Colin and says, "I'll return shortly, Your Lordship."

Embarrassed, I lower my head as Colin reaches for his wine. "I'm sorry," I murmur, pushing my hair behind my ear. "I don't think I'm very good company, today or any afternoon."

"Well, to be fair, I did blindside you with the invitation. Literally."

As he chuckles, I look up and smile slightly. It's true. We walked into one and other in front of the Dorchester. I was going in, he was coming out. I looked up into his brown eyes, a cheerful smile on his face as he sighed my name. I hadn't seen him since I signed the divorce papers and suddenly, there he was in front of me. "May I be honest?" He nods and leans in expectantly as I say, "I'm surprised I said 'yes' when you asked me to lunch."

He picks up his wine glass and swirls it. "May I be equally honest?" A beat of silence passes before he says, "I was surprised you said 'yes' too." I watch him sip the wine and I feel nothing, not even an urge for a drink as he continues, "But, I'm very glad you did."

"You are?"

"Yes." A blush colors his cheeks as he looks up bashfully. "I've thought about you these last few weeks."

"You have?"

He nods, his eyes sparkling as a crooked grin unfolds on his face. "Well, once or twice," he says defensively, but his tone belies the truth.

I sit back against the plush red chair, soft lighting falling over us. We're in one of the new modern restaurants that's seemingly popping up overnight all over London. A plate of crispy bread sticks sits between us and instantly, I'm salivating. But, I can't tell Colin the only reason I said yes was because I was hungry. Tentatively, I reach out for one of the bread sticks and break off a bite-size piece. "What have you thought about?"

He clears his throat and looks down. "Just little things," he admits softly as his eyes turn up to mine. The breath catches in my throat as I see something familiar in his eyes. It's compassion and years ago, Gregory used to look at me that way. My hand trembles and I struggle to swallow as he continues, "Mostly if you were doing well on your own."

I listen to him talk, my mind wandering as the gentle sound of his voice surrounds me. I don't know about well, but things are certainly quiet on my own. It's funny how even the sounds of grown children can fill your life and your heart. Twice weekly phone calls with my children isn't enough. It just isn't. But, I can't return to Sunset Beach. Not with my memories and pain there. Not with Gregory there. Colin's voice cuts through my thoughts and I look up. "What's a lolly?"

"Lolly is a _who_, not a what," he explains with a grin. "My youngest daughter was born Charlotte, but all of those consonants gave her some trouble as a child. Lolly was the best she could muster, so Lolly she remained."

"How old are your children?" I ask. I'm content to let him talk, thrilled the focus was momentarily off me.

"Quite older than the small children I remember them being. David is thirty, Susannah is twenty-seven, and Lolly is twenty-one."

I smile and say quietly, "She's just a year older than Caitlin."

He nods and lets a moment of silent pass. "Yes. But, I'm sure your daughter hasn't just run off to Paris to live with the lead singer of a rock band."

With a chuckle, I shake my head as he sips his wine. "No, she hasn't. Caitlin was always more like Gregory. They're steady, like the earth."

"What does that make you?" he asks curiously. "Ever changing as the sea?"

I shrug. "Perhaps. I did run away from England and followed the sun to the Pacific, all when I was younger than both our daughters."

He smiles. "That gives me hope that she'll one day lose her impulsive streak and settle down."

I think of abandoning Gregory on the street in Naples. I think of instigating the divorce. I think of refusing to return to California. All decisions made as knee-jerk reactions to my pain. "She may settle down," I say knowingly, leaning in for my glass of sparkling water, "but she'll _never_ stop being impulsive."

His eyes move over me, searching again for something as I raise the glass to my lips. "I'm sorry for going on about her," he begins and I shake my head.

He traces the rim of his wine glass as I say softly, "It's alright. After all, it's only fair: you already know about everything about me and my family."

"Well," Colin replies with a bashful shrug, "that's my job."

I watch him for a long moment and smile. "Would you like to know what I am thinking?" He nods and I continue, "Why is a baron also a solicitor? I always imagined peers as not having _real_ jobs." His face falls and he looks down. My penchant for impulse has struck again as I watch him sit up and clear his throat.

"It's a simple answer, really." His eyes are clear as he explains, "I was the second son. My older brother, Reg, died in a car collision twenty years ago. He had no children and so I suddenly went from being the 'The Honorable Colin Sutherland Esquire' to the keeper of a barony in Suffolk." A sad smile comes to his face and my heart sinks just a bit. "A not so unusual case of the heir and the spare."

I frown. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

He shrugs again, his expression kindly sympathetic as he says simply, "Each of us has losses to bear. Life takes so much, often cruelly."

I nod, hearing the phantom wail of my baby. But, he was dead, as dead as my parents and as dead as my marriage. Life has taken so much.

Too much.

* * *

The children gaze back at me, their eyes round with ire. Caitlin's disgusted, her arms folded angrily against her chest. Sean frowns as he hovers behind his sister, his brow deeply furrowed. And, in that moment, they've never looked more like their mother. Olivia always wore her anger like a badge of honor. When she was upset, she never failed to let me and the rest of the world know.

Annie leans against me, curled into the hollow of my shoulder. "My life is no longer your mother's business," I say sharply as my arm goes around her.

"But, Daddy," Caitlin sputters as she looks between Annie and me, "how- I don't…" She trails off, anger giving way to tears as she turns to her husband. A moment later, she's sobbing into Cole's chest as he hugs her close.

"Way to go, Dad," Sean mutters.

"Both of you. Look at me." I ignore Cole and wait until my daughter reluctantly turns to me. "This family is moving ahead. Onward is the only way and," I say as I glance briefly to the young redhead at my side, "Annie is going to be a part of it."

"Are you serious, Daddy?"

"As a heart attack," Annie says as she reaches for my face.

"What a joke," I hear Sean say as I pull away from Annie's kiss. "You call _this_ a family?"

"Why not?" I ask simply. "I see a father, his two children, and…his wife." I watch as all three are stunned into silence. Even the jewel thief's jaw is hanging open. Annie giggles and wraps her arms around my waist. "Well, _future_ wife."

Caitlin's the first to move. She wrenches away from Cole and reaches for the baby seat. "We're leaving," she mutters, clutching it to her. She won't even look at me as she turns to her husband. "Come on, Cole."

I untangle myself from Annie as I move to catch her on her way out. My daughter flinches as I grasp her shoulders. "Caity," I say softly as she shakes her head, moving from my embrace. She looks down, her shoulders shaking as she sniffs. "I thought you would be happy for me."

She looks up slowly, her blue eyes wide. "Happy, Daddy?" she cries. "Really? It's so soon!"

"Your mother has been gone for months. What do you want me to do?" I ask softly, watching a tear make its way down her face. "Be alone?"

She shakes her head as I reach out, wiping the tear away. With a shudder, she frowns and admits, "I never thought Mom was serious." I inhale sharply as she continues softly, "Even after the divorce, I always thought…"

She thought her mother would come back too. If wishing only made things so, then Olivia would be here, the woman I wake up next to in the morning. Our youngest son would be here with us, growing stronger each day. But, no matter. Wishing never brought me anything in this life. Anything I ever wanted, I had to take. "Your mother made her choice," I murmur as the baby coos between us. I look down, watching as he flails his fists and kicks his foot free from the receiving blanket. "Life goes on."

Sean chuckles underneath his breath and hoists his backpack onto his shoulder. "Gee, Dad, I never thought of it that way," he mutters as he walks past us. "I'd love to stay and bond, but this is all a little too _precious_ for me."

Caitlin flinches as he slams the front door shut behind him. "He'll be alright," I say to her as Annie stands next to me. She threads her arm through mine and sighs, her head against my shoulder. My daughter watches us for a long moment before Cole touches her arm.

"Do you still want to go?" he asks quietly, avoiding my gaze.

She nods and passes him the baby seat. "I think so," she whispers. After he slips out, she turns back and watches Annie and I for a long moment. Her face is flushed with fright and instantly, she's the little girl who clung to Olivia and I on her first day of school. "I didn't expect _this_ when you said you wanted to see Sean and I for breakfast."

"Look, Caitlin-" Annie starts to stay, but Caitlin holds up her hand, silencing her.

"Time," she says softly, fixing her gaze on me. "I just need time."

I step forward and cup her shoulders. "And, you'll get it," I murmur, kissing her forehead. My lips linger on her skin for a moment before I lean down and whisper in her ear, "Thank you, Princess."

She nods and steps back, sparing neither of us a second glance before she leaves. Behind me, Annie sighs dramatically as the front door closes quietly after my daughter. "See, that didn't go too badly," she says, hugging me from behind. I stand quietly, watching the empty foyer and the door both of my children left through. "It's never easy with step-mothers…and I should know."

I force a nod and turn back to her. Her arms go around my neck and she sighs hungrily, her fingertips dancing through my hair. "They'll come around," I say, sounding more confident than I knew was true. Olivia is ingrained in every thread of their lives. A new Mrs. Richards would take time for them to come to grips with. I let her kiss me and cling to her hips as she giggles.

"Then, let's not wait," she murmurs, cupping my face. "Now that they know, we can get married. Let's go to Las Vegas. _Tonight_."

I pull back, chuckling. "You can't be serious," I say, watching her eyes light up. She grips the lapels of my robe, nodding as her hips grind against mine.

"I want to be your wife. Now. _Before_ the baptism."

I chuckle, playing along with her eagerness. "Why the rush?" I ask, watching her eyes flicker nervously. She shrugs and presses against me, lazily tugging the robe's belt open.

"The quicker we're married, the easier it will be for Caitlin and Sean," she says and I watch a too-bright smile come to her face. "We can all start living our lives. Besides, I always wanted to be a June bride."

I nod, pushing her against the wall. Another kiss silences her easily and she moans, drawing me closer. She can live her life as Mrs. Gregory Richards. I can live my life as the majority shareholder of The Liberty Corporation.

It's a simple business transaction, with a few promising perks.

* * *

As the waiter clears our plates, Colin looks up. "I nearly forgot, but Charles asked me to send you his regards."

"Oh?"

He nods and takes a sip of his wine. "Yes, I was speaking with him earlier. He and I will be presenting a lecture at our firm's annual partners conference. It's in Los Angeles next month."

Los Angeles. On a good day, it was only an hour north of Sunset Beach. I nod blandly and sit back. Caitlin wanted me to come for Trey's baptism in a few weeks. I reach for my water with a trembling hand, but falter. The baby I couldn't even look at was suddenly old enough to be baptized. "Are you alright?" I hear him ask and I look up slowly. He leans in, trying to catch my gaze. "Olivia?"

I force a smile and shake my head. "Yes, I'm fine. It's…nothing."

"Can I help?" he asks after several moments of silence.

With a grateful smile, I shake my head again. "No. The only person who can help me is…me." I fold my hands in my lap and sit back with a sigh. "My daughter," I begin softly, "wants me to go to California next month for her son's baptism." He nods, but says nothing and I shift in my seat. "But, I haven't told her I'm not going. I don't know how," I admit.

"I image it would be difficult to go." He watches me carefully as my shoulders collapse and I look down. "To return to the place where you have so many painful memories. It would hurt."

_At least I feel something_, I shouted at Gregory in Italy, pounding my fists into his chest. But, I'm just as afraid as him, the very thing I berated him for being. I don't know how to exist in Sunset Beach now, without my husband and without the baby we desperately wanted. I don't know how to watch my daughter with her child, thinking how that could have been me. "Life hurts," I murmur. He nods and reaches out, his fingers grazing the top of my hand. The gentle touch sends a spark up my arm as I admit in a whisper, "Life hurts here too."

"Perhaps," he suggests carefully, "it hurts here because you haven't addressed what happened to you in California." I shrug, trying to ignore the little voice within me that agreed with him. "You can't run away from your memories, not really."

With a sad smile, I explain, "I told Gregory the same thing. After- after the baby died, he moved us into a new house. He wanted to start over. But, I just couldn't pretend nothing happened, so I left." He nods gently and I cringe, knowing that he already sat through the story of my life on the first day I met him at his offices off New Square. "I'm doing the same thing he did."

"I'm sure your two children miss you." I smile at him, truly smile, as he clears his throat and continues, "As I know you miss them."

"I miss them _terribly_." The simple truth flutters before us and my stomach clenches as the realization settles in. Our eyes meet as I whisper, "I need to go to the baptism." He smiles gently, seemingly pleased with the decision as I exhale deeply. "I don't know what will happen, but I know that seeing my children again is more important than anything."

He nods as a thoughtful expression comes over him. "When exactly in July are you going?"

"Well, the baptism is on the 12th, so-"

His eyes light up and he leans in, suddenly animated. "I'm flying to California for the conference on the 10th. Why don't you join me?"

My heart begins to pound and I chuckle nervously. Colin has a way of looking at me that makes me…_feel_. And, it frightens me. It's been almost a quarter of a century since someone other than Gregory truly made me feel anything. Del was a distraction, a way to pass the time, but he didn't stoke my heart beyond more than a faint flutter. "I couldn't," I stutter and his eyes fall. "It would be an imposition."

"It's the firm's jet and I'm offering it to you," he points out, watching me with bashful eyes. "Hardly an imposition."

I shake my head and lean in, my arms resting on the table. "You barely know me," I sigh as he begins to chuckle.

"Well, that leaves us just less than a month to become friends." He grins and I notice the way his cheeks blush like a schoolboy's. "What do you say?"

He's infectious, I realize as I return his grin. And, I realize that good humor is something I'm in desperate need of as he begins to chuckle. I nod and he beams, my heart skipping a beat.

* * *

_A/N: The lyrics at the beginning are from the Herb Alpert song, "This Guy's in Love with You" (written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David)._


End file.
